bohemia
by SebonzaMitsuki27
Summary: UlquiorraKarin. AU. Clutter. Blaze. Fade.
1. are you going to catch a star?

_bohemia _

( **ARE YOU GOING TO CATCH A STAR?** )

* * *

Her eyes are bright. The sky is blue. The wind is in his hair. She's laughing and he can't concentrate on anyone but her.

Birds squawk, white bats meshing with clouds. Their cry is swallowed up by the fathoms below.

She walks across the deck, gold bangles clattering around her wrists. Her arms sway to twist of her hips. Purple cloth frames her, rippling with every move she make, giving her the veneer of something delicate.

He watches her, unable to resist.

She leans out, supported by the rails of the boat and breathes in the hair, her lips curving into a half-grin. Almost as if she is inhaling the Danube that swirls beneath her.

She glances back, cherry cheeks stained by something lovely. A flicker of white. A trail of aquamarine. Orifices part and he's curious to know the sound of her voice, what shape it will form.

"Are you alright?" Someone asks him, reaching out to touch his arm, and instinctively he flinches, brushing the contact away. "You've been looking a little lost, I guess, like you're out of it."

"I…" He blinks, trying to focus on the speaker, carefully finding the right words in his mind, then repeating them aloud. "I'm—"

The sky is blue. The wind is in his hair.

But the gypsy girl that garnered his attention is gone.

"—fine."

* * *

Disclaimer: bleach isn't mine.


	2. place it in the sky?

_bohemia _

( **PLACE IT IN THE SKY?** )

* * *

He sees her in the corner of his eye all the time. But when he attempts to seek her out, she disappears, stolen away by the faces of the unknown.

The cruise has ended, and he is no closer to her, that lady of a thousand mysteries. Now he has to search the cobbled streets of Vienna, and discover her reflection in the shimmer of water, glittered by the sun.

A week passes; still he searches for that one shadow, unable to determine why. The cadence of her laughter? Her eccentric clothes? The sparkle of her eyes or the size of her nose? Certainly, these are a few reasons out of a million that he could conjure in a second, but he cannot decide on _one._

Approaching the plaza, the centre of attention, it is surrounded by an audience—the performer none other than _her_—adored by many.

The music is a plethora of sound; the beat of a tambourine, the click of her heel, the clap of her hand. Wails and trumpets and cockerel caws – the music unites to form the oddest harmony, yet it's perfected by it's chaos.

She dances, clad in blue. Hands raised high, releasing a shower of petals. Feet dart, tangled in the hem of her dress, bare and mischievous. Teasing the audience with tantalizing movements.

Her back arches, bending like a bow; eyes fluttering shut as the music ebbs away.

She remains motionless until the audience can no longer hold their breath and their applause becomes music of it's own accord.

The gypsy girl has done it again, woven an enchantment around him, enticing him to never be captured by anyone else but her.

Her eyes open, and what lies there is a hue darker than the sky.


	3. put it in your pocket?

_bohemia _

( **PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET?** )

* * *

Afterwards, he cannot bring himself to talk to her, though the reason escapes him.

Perhaps because _true_ contact, beyond an illusion, would shatter the ideas that he has construed and constructed in her absence. Reality would destroy that, and he is at a loss: it is because he is ignorant of her true personality that he cannot say which is better.

Now she does not haunt him in the shadow of day.

Instead she haunts him in the shadow of night.

She appears to him in his dreams, left in lipstick traces of glass; forgotten bangles and whispers imprinted messages in between his clavicle.

Occasionally, the gypsy appears in flesh and head, always a florid of colours and glimpses, highlighted against neon buildings and smoke.

From out of the darkness she emerges, lidded eyes always tempting him, heavy with more than first intimacies. Her arms slip down his shirt, and their limber legs entwine together.

It's more than hello and less than goodbye.

Her lips invite his, biting when he yields, and now his hands are in her hair and together they cut angles that pleasure knows no bounds and logic knows no reason.

Her slim shoulders bump against his chest and together they snap in two, branches breaking again and again.

And then, just before the moment he wakes, she vanishes; melding with the water and every ripple that is formed. She floats away, more unattainable with each ending dream.

He wakes up and thinks he hears the ghost of her laughter.

He wakes up and thinks she looks better in green.


	4. or forever say goodbye?

_bohemia _

( **OR FOREVER SAY GOODBYE?** )

* * *

Like a shooting star, she eludes him.

Their paths never cross, and it's as if fate has decided that they shall not meet again.

Yet they do.

It's his last day in Vienna, city of music and mystery, and he's sitting in a restaurant, feet close together. The restaurant overshadows the Danube, tilting over the water.

And perhaps it is exactly like the phrase 'one glance too many', but he hadn't intended to have on last glimpse of her, except the parting shot of her back against him, that one day where nothing mattered by her.

But there she is, the gypsy girl with bangles on her arms and on her ankles, her face gracing a half-grin.

She is not alone, like he, a fool believed. Hoped.

Red is her colour today, spread across her figure and the flush of her cheeks; she is eclipsed by her lover, for what else could he be, white hair and eyes of aquamarine. And yet, to call it an eclipse must be a paradox, because it seems that they both radiate their happiness equally.

Her hands rest on _him,_ his arm encases her waist. They're a pretty picture on the blue Danube, their boat drifting merrily away.

She beckons, her other hand placed where his chin begins, and he obeys, lowering his head so she may murmur something only they know.

For one moment, Ulquiorra Schiffer imagines. _He_ is her lover, standing there beside her, and her lover is where _he _sits, watching them interact.

And—

—_kiss._

He stands up, forgetting the rest of his meal, unable to bear it any longer. He will stay here no more, neither in a daydream nor in person.

He will not be haunted any longer.

They gypsy girl will always be that: a gypsy girl, dark haired, blue eyed, nameless, an enchantress; a fantasy with unending charm.

He walks away because he has no other choice.

His heart remains unbroken, because he has not given it away.

And he should not be jealous, because she was never his.

* * *

**a/n.** _Thanks for reading, it was fun to write!_


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